Why not the Dauphin?"

"Oh! The Dauphin!" and Jean Saxe blew out his lips in contempt. "We
who live in Amboise do not think great things of little Charles. To my
mind little Charles is one of the noughts. But wait till you go to the
Chateau and then you will understand for yourself."

"And why should I go to the Chateau?"

"Because they love music," and the fellow grinned knowingly as he
cocked a cunning eye at the exposed lute, "because there is another who
loves music and can open the doors and will say---- There! do you hear
him? La, lilla, la! La, la, lilla, la! He always sings over the
third bottle, and the King--God bless him--pays for all."

Opening the door to its widest Saxe stood aside listening, his head on
one side, his hand beckoning familiarly to La Mothe, as up the dark
well of stairs there came the rise and fall of a man's voice in a brisk
chant. No words could be caught, but the air ran trippingly, and if
the higher notes broke in a crack which told of age or misuse, or both
together, the lower ran clear and full, and the tune ran on with a
rollicking, careless awing which showed that, whoever might cavil, the
singer had at least one appreciative hearer--himself!

"A wonderful man, wonderful," whispered Saxe, his small eyes twinkling
with appreciation, but whether at the music or because the King paid
for all, La Mothe was uncertain. "A poet of poets, a drinker of
drinkers, and a shrewd, bitter-tongued devil drunk or sober. Not that
he grows drunk easily, not he! and always he sings at his third bottle."

"What is his name?"

"Whatever he chooses, monsieur, and so long as the King pays what does
a name matter? He serves the King as I do and--with great respect--as
you do also. Did I ask your name when you said, 'A room and supper'?
Not I!"

"I am called Stephen La Mothe."

"As you please, monsieur, and I don't doubt you will eat as good a
supper by that name as by any other. Give me twenty minutes and you
will say the Black Dog of Amboise is no cur."

Nor was Jean Saxe's boast unjustified. La Mothe not only supped but
ate, and with such satisfaction that in the peace of a healthy hunger
crowned with as healthy a digestion--unappreciated blessings of
four-and-twenty--he forgot alike King and Dauphin, Valmy and the Grey
Gates of Amboise in the shadows across the road.

But neither was allowed to remain forgotten. As he sat over the
remains of his supper, tapping out a verse of